


hail to whatever you've found

by likewinning



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-10
Updated: 2010-10-10
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:13:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1669244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, set (sort of) pre-series. <em>Jess is grinning, and something about it makes Jo’s breath catch, makes her fists clench. No one at school has ever seen the other side of Jo, who she really is, who she wants – needs – to be. Jess is looking right at her, right through her. Jo isn’t sure what it means.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	hail to whatever you've found

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Rilo Kiley.

It’s a pretty routine case, a little salt-and-burn deal just outside of Nebraska, so routine Ellen doesn’t even put up much of a fight when Bill asks if Jo wants to come along. Jo does, of course, has been packed for the last hour – she was just waiting to be asked.

Jo doesn’t tag along for the interviewing; she’s still too young-looking, too fresh-faced, but Bill hands her a shotgun full of rock salt like the Winchesters mentioned to them a few months back, and Jo shoots and points while they check the place out and promptly get accosted by an angry spirit in the shape of a former track runner. He’s fast, but Jo’s faster.

They finish up just before sunrise, grave dirt up to their arms and sweat running down their backs. Jo, she’s trying to act professional, keeping the set expression of someone who’s done this before (and she _has_ ), but she maybe loses a little of that when they get back to the car and her dad says, “I’m real proud of you, sweetheart. Let’s get you back home before your mom rips my heart out.”

“She might do that anyway,” Jo points out, but she’s grinning too hard to keep up the joke. She’s only seventeen, after all.

*

Hunting privileges came gradually for Jo. Ellen taught her how to shoot when she was nine or ten, right after her dad was laid up after his last big hunt with John Winchester, and the rest fell into place. Hunters told her stories and her dad did, too, sat her on his knee ‘til she was too big to fit, brought her souvenirs from past hunts – grizzly things like no kid would ever dream of that Jo keeps in the top drawer of her dresser still -, and her mom raged and snarled but still taught her the right way to read Latin, taught her about salt lines and devil’s traps. She was fifteen for her first hunt and Ellen came along, all but holding her hand, and Jo still only gets to go if it’s less than a hundred miles distance from the Roadhouse, if she’s likely to be more help than hindrance.

“Your daddy’s a good hunter,” Ellen tells her, "but if he has to take care of you, too, he won’t be able to do his job.” Jo starts to say _but Sam and Dean_ and Ellen huffs and rolls her eyes and says something disparaging about John Winchester that Jo can’t catch over the noise of the bar.

It’s only one more year to wait, though. Jo has one more year of school to get through, one more year surrounded by kids who don’t know the truth, wouldn’t know a ghost if it smacked them in the teeth, and then she can do what she wants. She can keep hunting with her dad; she can head out on her own. She can take her knives and her guns and her hand-me-down leather jacket and be whoever she feels like being.

One more year.

In the meantime, Jo has a few friends. She’s a little anti-social, a little bit of an outcast, but she hasn’t made it all the way through high school without gathering up a couple kids like her, ones who might not know the difference between a werewolf and a shape shifter but who have enough fight in them, anyway.

Jo’s walking to meet a couple of them at a club one night, some place that pretty much sounds like the Roadhouse minus the hunters and free drinks if she bats her eyelashes right, when she hears the screaming coming from a nearby alley. And Jo, if she’d been thinking about it, would’ve realized that it could’ve been _anything_ , not necessarily supernatural, but her instincts kick in and she’s peeling off in that direction and it turns out she’s right, she’s right.

There’s a girl, tall and blonde and about her age, and there’s someone else pinning her up against a wall and taunting her, some guy whose features are of no importance to Jo at all because would you look at that – black eyes. The guy is bigger than Jo, probably stronger even when he’s not being possessed by some son of a bitch demon, but Jo doesn’t care. She rushes up and practically leaps on him to tear him off the girl, shouting curses before she’s got a bottle of holy water on him and she’s muttering perfect Latin so fast she just wishes her mom and dad were here to see it.

They’d be decent help, too.

There’s a rush of black smoke at the end of it and Jo backs off when the formerly-possessed guy collapses, and then there’s silence while Jo and the other girl stare at him and catch their breath.

“You okay?” Jo asks, once she’s bent down and checked that the guy’s still got a pulse. The girl doesn’t look too hurt; there are fingerprints on her arms and her clothes look a little rumpled and she looks _freaked_ , but not like she needs a hospital or anything.

“What was -” the girl starts, and then she shakes her head, blonde curls flying around a little as she does.

Jo stands up, brushing her hands on her jeans and looking up at the girl. She’s tall, much taller than Jo, legs that go on forever in designer jeans. “I’d say it was drugs,” Jo says, “but I don’t think you’d believe me.”

Despite the shock she must be feeling, the girl laughs a little, pretty lips tilting up into a smile. “Not likely, no,” she says, a little breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Jo says, and then she hesitates. She’s never had to do the whole _monsters are real_ spiel, and she always figured her dad would be around to back her up. Her heart’s beating double-time and her friends are probably wondering where she is and she’s standing in an alley, some poor unconscious guy at her feet and his almost-victim looking at her for answers. They’re the same age, though, so Jo figures – the direct approach is probably her best bet. “Monsters are real,” Jo says in a rush. “Ghosts, werewolves, demons – and this guy was possessed by a demon.”

The girl stares at her, which Jo was expecting, but she didn’t expect it to make her as uncomfortable as it does. She shifts, feeling small, feeling the way she does when Dean fucking Winchester shows up in his stupid muscle car and all but pulls her pigtails. “I’m going to call someone for this guy,” Jo says, gesturing to him with the toe of her boot. “Do you – my car’s around, if.”

But the girl shakes her head, looking a little dazed but not nearly as bad as Jo’s seen some people get. “No, I’m okay. I’ve got a car nearby.”

“Okay.” Jo shifts again, boots scuffing on pavement, and watches the girl walk off before she digs out her only-for-emergencies cell phone and calls an ambulance for the poor bastard at her feet. Then she finds her friends, gets buzzed enough to let Billy Riley feel her up a little because he’s a good kisser even if he _does_ like fucking crappy metal bands, and heads on home. She doesn’t tell anyone about the girl she saved.

*

School the next day is the usual, everyone talking about the home football game against some town or other, Jo trying to stay quiet and do her work and not talk back too many times to her teachers. Billy passes her a note about hitting the club again tonight, maybe without the rest of their friends, and Jo’s midway through reading it outside of her next class when someone comes up to her.

Her mouth opens and she nearly drops the note, because it’s the girl from last night. Jo never caught her name, never bothered to think she probably went here, because Jo – Jo, she makes an effort to stay clear of any crowd that isn’t her own. She doesn’t cause trouble if trouble doesn’t find her first, doesn’t want her mom to have any more excuses to keep her away from hunting. This place is her day job, and Jo doesn’t associate with too many of her coworkers.

The girl’s smiling at her, kind of nervously, and her teeth are bright white and a little crooked. “Hi,” she says. Jo nods at her, not trusting words right now. What happened last night doesn’t fit in here, brightly lit halls and lockers with paint peeling off and more kids, normal kids, than Jo can keep track of. “I’m Jess,” the girl says then, and Jo’s pretty sure by the way the girl says it she’s supposed to already _know_ that, maybe. “I never – I’m usually better with names, but I don’t think I know yours.”

“Jo Harvelle,” Jo says automatically, more the way she does when hunters ask _and who are you, sweetheart_ than when teachers take attendance at the start of the year.

“Jo,” Jess repeats, like she’s committing it to memory. Except for her eyes, blue but bloodshot, you’d never know anything bad happened to her last night. There’s make-up where the bruise on her neck used to be, and she looks more put together than Jo’s ever dreamed of being. Jess reaches up to adjust the strap on her backpack. “I never got a chance to tell you thank you last night. If it wasn’t for you, I’d –”

“Don’t mention it,” Jo cuts her off. It’s a rule, somewhere, unwritten but true. Hunters aren’t thanked, and if they are, they don’t take advantage of it. They do their job and they go.

Jo’s turning to do just that, but Jess reaches out, puts her hand on Jo’s shoulder. Jo’s first instinct is to throw her off, but she’s in school, and Jess doesn’t mean anything by it. Her nails are painted light blue, same color as her eyes, but the paint’s all chipped and it looks like she’s been biting them. “Seriously,” Jess says when Jo looks back at her. “You saved my life. I don’t know how you – and I’m not _asking_ , if you don’t want to tell me, I get that it’s probably –” she rolls her eyes at herself, smiles again. “But thank you. I mean it.”

Jo’s mama taught her manners, and she knows her next words should be _you’re welcome_ , maybe even something friendly about saying _cristo_ and carrying around the right charms, but the bell rings and Jo says, “I have to get to class.” So she steps into English class, writes some story about monsters, and tries to forget the exact way the sunlight caught in Jess’s hair.

It’s not important, anyway.

*

Jo thinks that’s about it, then. She finishes the rest of the school day, tells Billy she’s busy, and goes home to do her homework. She’s midway through calculus (which Ash isn’t around to help her with because he’s off being a genius at college), sitting at the bar and tapping her pencil along to the beat of whatever old song’s coming from the jukebox, when the door opens to her left.

“We’re closed,” Jo mutters automatically, even though it’s probably past five by now and they might not be. No one ever starts coming in before seven, anyway.

“Sign on the door says you’re open,” says a voice, and Jo drops her pencil because – fuck. She knows that voice. Jessica Moore – so Jo spent a minute with last year’s yearbook, whatever, it’s not a goddamn crime – apparently lives to make her a klutz.

She turns from her notebook and sure enough, there she is, nearly six feet of a pretty girl who sure as hell doesn’t belong in a place like this. Jo loves the Roadhouse, sure; it’s home. But it’s dusty no matter how long you clean it and hunters, no matter how brave and smart and quick they are, are mostly a bunch of rat bastards who wouldn’t call if you asked, who leer, who laugh too loud or too quiet, who know nine ways to kill a banshee but never learned their manners.

Yeah. Jess doesn’t belong, which is why the first words out of Jo’s mouth are, “What are you doing here?”

Jess’s eyebrow goes up, up, just one of them, and for a second Jo thinks of Dean. “You ran off this afternoon,” Jess says. “I asked around.” She gestures to the place, to the pool table where Ash sleeps most nights, the battered barstools. “Not too many Harvelles in this town.”

“Stalking is kinda unbecoming for a popular girl,” Jo points out. She sets her pencil down and twists her body around on the stool; boots or not, her feet don’t quite touch the ground.

“Who says I’m popular?” Jess asks, and if Jo didn’t know better – she shakes away the thought, and Jess goes on, “ _You_ didn’t know me.”

“I don’t pay a lot of attention to people at school.”

“Too busy with extracurricular activities, huh?” Jess is grinning, and something about it makes Jo’s breath catch, makes her fists clench. No one at school has ever seen the other side of Jo, who she really is, who she wants – needs – to be. Jess is looking right at her, right through her. Jo isn’t sure what it means.

“What do you _want_?” Jo asks, not kindly. Maybe she’s seventeen, but she’s kicked plenty of hunters out of the bar in her time, rifle in her hands or not, and she’s not about to let some high school girl – well, she isn’t sure what Jess wants. That’s kind of the point.

“Maybe I want a drink,” Jess says lightly. She takes the few steps from the pool table over to Jo, so she’s leaning against the bar.

“Maybe I’m busy,” Jo counters, because she _is_. Jo’s smart, but calculus is a bitch, especially without the resident genius around to help make sense of things. Jess looks down at the equations, and the smile she’s giving off brightens. It startles Jo, that that’s even possible. How Jo didn’t know about her before really is a mystery.

“I’m kind of brilliant at math,” Jess tells her, tapping a finger on the notebook. She’s repainted her nails, purple this time. “I could help you out.”

It’s then that Jo figures it out, and she wonders how she didn’t before. Jess thinks she _owes_ Jo something, like saving someone’s life comes with a price tag. She looks at Jess for a long while then, bloodshot eyes and long wavy hair and an easy smile, like this is nothing. She looks around the bar and thinks of how soon it’ll fill up, and she says, “Yeah, fine, okay. But not here.”

Jess smiles at her again, and Jo thinks _yeah, definitely not here_.

*

They go to a coffee shop, some little place Jo’s passed on her way to school a couple hundred times but never been inside. They find a table near the back and set down their books and notebooks, since Jess apparently has some work to get done, too. Jo figures out the reason she hasn’t seen Jess much is that Jess is in just about every AP course there is. She takes AP _Calc_ , for fuck’s sake. Jo is pretty sure this makes her a crazy person.

“No,” Jess says when Jo points this out, taking out half a dozen pens and notebooks and a few highlighters. “It just means I’m really smart. And maybe a little crazy,” she admits at Jo’s look. Jo wants to argue, but it’s not like there’s anything _wrong_ with being a genius. Ash is a genius, and he’s one of the best people Jo knows. 

Once they’re settled in, Jo turns down Jess’s offer to buy her something, but Jess comes back anyway with something topped with whipped cream, iced and _pink_.

“The fuck is that?” Jo asks, staring at the drink like it’s about to attack her, maybe.

“Raspberry iced mocha,” Jess says, sipping on her own identical drink. “It’s good, try it.”

Jo does, and it’s not bad, but it’s kind of disgustingly sweet. The caffeine does help, though, and pretty soon, she’s flying through equations, stopping every few problems to have Jess look over them. “You’re pretty good at this,” Jess says after the fourth time – Jo’s had one wrong so far, and it only took her a few minutes to fix it. “You don’t really need my help.”

“I know that,” Jo says, scoffing a little, but she tosses in a smile to let Jess know that – well, the thing is, she doesn’t _mind_ Jess helping her. This isn’t her scene, and Jess isn’t the type of person she usually feels comfortable with, but it’s not bad.

“Yeah,” Jess says, quietly. She looks down at her notebook, and Jo sees notes on Hemmingway in purple ink. There are different colored flowers lining the margins, like Jess has plenty of time in class to doodle all while taking what look like pretty detailed notes. “I pretty much just wanted an excuse to hang out with you, you know,” she admits, before looking back up at Jo.

It leaves Jo a little speechless, is the thing. Maybe she hasn’t noticed Jess around, but now that they’ve met, Jo can already tell that Jess is the type of girl who – well, she can’t be desperate for friends, or anything. Jo doesn’t really have anything to offer her, unless it’s advice on the quickest way to build a devil’s trap. She hates shopping, doesn’t wear make-up, and has probably read way fewer books than Jess. They’re the same age, but they might as well be a different species, for all Jo really knows about being normal.

“I’m kind of a freak,” Jo says after a minute, not like it’s a good or a bad thing, but like it’s a statement of fact.

“You’re kind of fascinating,” Jess counters, and then her cheeks turn pink and she’s actually _blushing_. Jo isn’t sure what any of it means, but she can’t look away. She isn’t sure what the right response is; all her bravado seems to have slipped away for the moment, and she can feel the big boots on her feet, the beat up leather jacket hanging from the back of her chair, the way her hair falls long and messy across her shoulders, the bumps and bruises on her arms.

“Give it a week,” she says, and Jess just laughs and shakes her head.

*

A week passes by, and then another, and she and Jess still hang out pretty regularly. They don’t talk much at school, since it turns out most of their classes are on opposite ends of the school and they have different lunch periods, but when they pass in the hall Jess smiles at Jo like they’re _friends_. After school, they hang out in the library until close, and if Jo doesn’t have to do chores, they spend a little while at the coffee shop, too.

She’s always home by seven, still. She gets back to the Roadhouse in time to catch as many stories as she can before she has to get to bed, and the hunters all smile at her and try to teach her a dozen things she already knows. They joke around with her dad and quiet down when her mom comes by and Jo doesn’t _forget_ about Jess, but she tries.

The thing is, she keeps expecting Jess to get sick of her. To realize Jo’s kind of fucked up, that she’s a little jumpy and a lot hostile and she keeps a knife in her bag and wears charms around her neck, but Jess – Jess doesn’t care. Or she does, but not in a bad way.

“So you’re, what, a superhero?” Jess asks her after a few weeks. It’s Saturday, and normally Jo’d be sitting around the Roadhouse watching her dad pour through newspaper articles, but the latest case is three hundred miles south of here and Jo’s out of luck. Not like her mom would let her tackle a werewolf yet, anyway – even her dad’s not going alone.

“Nah,” Jo says. They’re in the usual coffee shop; it’s busier on weekends, but they’ve staked out a table to themselves, and Jo’s slouched down in one of the chairs, swirling her straw around in her drink while Jess does physics homework. The fact that Jess can multi-task while doing this is maybe a little disgusting to Jo. Yeah, that’s definitely the word for it. “But my dad sort of is.”

Jess’s notebook looks like complete gibberish to Jo, and to top it off, it’s covered in bright green ink. Jo’s willing to bet Jess gives her teachers a fucking headache, when she’s not being a brainiac. Jess looks up with a questioning smile and asks, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jo says. She knows she’s not – she’s not _supposed_ to just go around telling people about hunting, but Jess already knows about demons, so it’s not like it’ll really hurt her to know more. “Demons, ghosts, werewolves – you name it. He hunts ‘em. He’s been doing it my whole life.”

Jess’s eyebrow quirks up again, and she finally sets her pen down. “Sounds kind of scary,” she says. There’s something unsteady about her expression, Jo notices.

“My ma hates it,” Jo says, not exactly answering the question. It _is_ scary, yeah – scarier before she ever went with, when her dad would disappear for weeks and she thought _maybe this time he won’t be back_. She remembers that night perfectly, when John Winchester called from a payphone in Tulsa and her mom screamed at him till his change ran up and he had to call back to tell them her dad was alive – not good, but alive.

“Not a superhero, huh?” Jess asks quietly, and Jo shoots her a look ‘til Jess holds up her hands in surrender.

“She can do the job,” Jo says after a minute. “She just doesn’t want me to.” Before Jess can ask, Jo says, “She wants me to go to school. Do something _normal_ , and useful, and – I don’t know.” Jo shrugs, because she really _doesn’t_ know. She loves her mom, loves her like breathing, but her mom doesn’t seem to get that it’s – it’s too late for Jo. She doesn’t _want_ normal. She wants the road under her and the smell of gunpowder and if not safety, keeping other people safe.

When she glances over again, Jess has her chin in her hands and she’s studying Jo, blue eyes sweeping over her in a way that makes Jo want to squirm, makes her hackles want to rise. But she doesn’t, and they don’t.

“You’ve got a lot of time to decide,” Jess says at last, leaning back against her chair but still looking at Jo. “I mean,” she says, “it’s your life. Whether you decide to stick with – the job – or, you know, join the circus, that’s on you.”

Jo feels a smile twitch on her lips, something warming her chest because no one’s ever _said_ that to her – her dad takes her on hunts, sure, but it’s more a _if I don’t you’ll try anyway_ kind of thing –, that it’s her choice. She feels warm and happy for a minute, but she doesn’t say _thank you_. “If I join the circus, you can keep me company, gigantor.”

“I’m perfectly normal height,” Jess says, aiming a kick at her under the table. Jo sticks her tongue out, and Jess smiles at her. “You’ve got time,” Jess says again, and Jo nods. “You’ve also got a shitload of English homework, slacker,” Jess adds, “so get to work.”

Jo scowls, but drags her notebook closer to her. She really hates Faulkner.

*

The following Friday, Jess meets her outside of her English class and hands her a flyer. It’s neon green, some big bold font advertising a club Jo’s never heard of a few towns over. “Opening tonight,” Jess tells her, leaning against one of the lockers to get out of the way of the bustle of kids rushing off to their next classes.

“I can read, you know,” Jo points out, glancing from the flyer to Jess. “So what?”

Jess prods her in the side, and Jo does her best not to jump. Personal space and Jess aren’t the best of friends, and it’s something Jo _tries_ not to mind. Or tries to pretend she minds, whichever. “So we should _go_ , smartass.” She points at the bottom of the flyer with one long, toxic-green nail. The paint’s chipped, as usual. “Free admission.”

Jo pulls a face. Her friends like to invite her out to these things, but she’s been ditching all of them lately to hang out with Jess. None of them have ever really called her out on it – the last time she spoke to Billy for more than five minutes, he asked to borrow her lock picking kit. Clearly, Jo chose the right time to switch social groups.

Not that she and Jess really hang out with anyone else, which is just another reason why a club sounds like a bad fucking plan. “Just because something’s free doesn’t mean we have to go,” Jo says, but Jess just keeps _looking_ at her, raised eyebrow and a smirk like she knows just as well as Jo does that Jo’s going to give in.

There’s another reason she wants to say no, though, and Jo leans back against the lockers next to Jess so she can say, just loud enough to be heard over the dispersing crowd, “Me and my dad are leaving tomorrow morning. Hopefully just for the weekend, but there’s something in Wymore, maybe.”

Jess doesn’t say anything for a minute, and when Jo looks over Jess’s lips are pursed and she’s gripping her books tightly, like they might run off on her if she doesn’t. “Oh,” is all she says then, and she pushes herself off the lockers, looking above Jo when she speaks again. “I have to get to class. Coffee shop later, right?”

“Yeah,” Jo says quietly, with a sense that she missed something. “Jess, maybe -” she starts, and Jess shakes her head. “No, it’s okay,” Jess says, and she starts to walk off, but Jo – Jo reaches out, grabs Jess’s arm, and only realizes afterward that she’s never done anything like that. Jo’s nothing near touchy-feely, believes in more than a little personal space, but Jess’s arm is warm under her fingertips and she feels a beauty mark under her thumb.

Jess looks down at her, eyebrow raised again. “I’ll go,” Jo says, looking up at her with something like determination. “Just – not too late, okay? We have an early drive tomorrow.”

The bell rings again, and they’re both more than late for class, but Jess smiles so wide her eyes crinkle up with it and somehow, Jo doesn’t mind getting told off by her math teacher.

*

They reach the club at seven and it’s already packed, but they have no trouble getting in. Jess is wearing jeans and a white top that’s more cleavage than anything else, and she flashes a bright smile at the doorman and they’re in. Jo does her best not to glare at the guy when she sees him checking out Jess’s ass. It’s not like, she guesses, she’s not doing the exact same thing.

The place is loud, lights flashing and music blaring, nothing quite like Jo’s used to, and Jess disappears almost immediately to grab drinks. Jo stands on her tiptoes for a second and catches Jess flashing another smile at the bartender. She comes back at few minutes later and holds out a rum and Coke for Jo, keeping the other for herself.

“That was kind of disgusting,” Jo says over the noise of the bar. “You know your IQ is like, twice that of every person in here, right?”

Jess laughs at her, and Jo tries not to feel too satisfied that the smile that brings to Jess’s face is more genuine than the others. “Brains only get you so far, Supergirl,” she says, and then takes a sip of her drink.

Jo scoffs. “Don’t call me that.”

“You can be Batgirl instead, if you want. Redheads are pretty hot,” Jess says easily, and Jo decides to attribute that to the rum. All one sips of it that Jess has had.

“I dressed up as Supergirl for Halloween once,” Jess says conversationally.

“Yeah?” Jo asks, trying not to look interested. “How’d that go?” She bets it went just fine; Jess has the height and the build for it, and it’s not like guys don’t already stare at her everywhere they go. She doesn’t have a boyfriend, Jo knows that much, but it’s not for lack of anyone trying – they even get hassled at the coffee shop sometimes, but Jess just smiles politely at every attempt and says, “Sorry, I’m a little busy.”

Jo sets it down to Jess just wanting to study, to Jess not wanting to be _rude_ and ditch Jo, but there are times when she’s a little less sure.

Hopeful, even, if she let herself think like that.

She and Jess finish their drinks, Jess eating the lime in each of theirs in a way Jo wants to find disgusting but really, really doesn’t, and then before Jo can say _it’s late_ or _I don’t dance_ or any of the things that are true, Jess grabs her hand and pulls her out onto the floor.

The music is loud, unfamiliar, nothing they’ve ever played at the Roadhouse. The jukebox there is exclusively full of old songs, nothing past the late eighties, and this is something different. It’s not bad, and it has enough of a beat that Jo tries to focus on that, on the warbling words, instead of Jess pressed so close against her on the dance floor.

There’s plenty of room, is the thing. The club is packed but the floor isn’t really, because lots of people are still getting drinks, standing around and talking, making out in corners or whatever. There’s _room_ , and there are plenty of other people Jess could be dancing this close with, and it’s not like Jo’s fucking adverse to the idea of Jess touching her, no matter how much she pretends she is sometimes, but it’s –

“Relax,” Jess says in her ear, over the noise of the club just as the song changes. Jess’s hair is a mess of blond waves, gone frizzy in the heat of the club, and Jo can smell the rum on her breath and some kind of fruity shampoo. When Jess pulls back a little, her eyes are lit up, reflecting the bright lights of the club, and Jo feels much drunker than she is all of a sudden.

“Okay,” she says then, even though minutes have passed since Jess said it, even though the next song is already onto the chorus. Jess smiles at her and Jo wants that to keep happening; she’s not thinking about the hunt the next day, the look her mom’s going to give her when she comes home sweaty and tipsy and smelling like smoke and booze. She’s just thinking that Jess feels nicer against her than anyone else ever has.

*

In the car the next morning, her dad plays Zeppelin at top volume, the stuff off _In Through the Out Door_ that no one in their right mind actually likes all that much. Jo’s head pounds with every beat and bump in the road, and her dad sings along to the music, off-key and grinning and Jo can’t think of a thing to say to him.

They never fight, Jo and her dad. She and her mom will go at it for hours, days even, and her parents will do the same, but Jo’s always felt a weird sense of peace with her dad. He’ll tell jokes and stories, things Jo used to pretend to understand that she’s just beginning to now, and Jo’s always felt happier with him than she does with anyone else.

Even though he always leaves.

The music finally ends when they hit Wymore, and Bill doesn’t have to tell her to stay in the car while he sees about things, because she knows already. She has the right ID out for him, Gerald Hargrove, born 1955, hair brown eye color brown. There’s a routine here, one Jo has to learn even if she’s still too young to see it up close.

Her dad takes the ID from her and nods his thanks but he doesn’t get out of the car, not right away. He looks at Jo and Jo stops playing with the radio so she can look back, into eyes just like hers but older. “Who’s the boy?” Bill asks, and Jo’s confused for a second, thinks he’s asking about the case – three boys missing, same pattern, over the last few months. No prints and no blood, but all the little hints of a spirit.

Then she remembers Jess, Jess pulling her out of the club by the hand, winking at the doorman before pulling Jo out of sight and kissing her quick, easy, laughing against her mouth before drawing back. They walked to Jo’s car and stayed quiet on the ride to Jess’s house, neither one of them bothering with the radio or the windows or anything but silence. Jo didn’t ask, and Jess didn’t explain, and there was nothing but road until she pulled up in front of Jess’s house and Jess looked at her, bloodshot blue eyes and a quirk of a smile under smeared lipgloss and said, “Be careful tomorrow, okay?”

Of course her mom and dad know, even if they don’t know who.

Jo says, “Just a friend,” and it’s not as much of an admission as she thought it would be. Her dad smiles at her, easy and true, and he reaches over to ruffle her hair before he gets out of the car.

*

The job takes three days, and Jo can hear her mom yelling at her dad over the phone about missing school on Monday. It’s her senior year and Jo has no plans, not academic ones anyway. She knows she’s smart enough, that if she tried, applied for some scholarships, she could get out of Nebraska easy. Between her mom and Jess, she hears it all the time, but it never sounds as good as the road under her feet.

When she gets to school on Tuesday, her ribs are bruised from the spirit deciding to knock her over with a nightstand and there’s graveyard dirt under her nails, but Jess meets her at her locker with a bright smile and Jo wonders, for a brief second, if this is how her dad feels when he comes home.

Then Jess slugs her in the arm and says, “You could’ve called, jerk,” and Jo reconsiders.

The hallway’s packed as usual, but no one’s really looking at them – not at Jo, anyway. Still, Jo’s quiet when she says, “Hey, I’m alive, right? What else would I have said?”

She’s smiling too, though, is the thing. Her dad didn’t ask her any more questions, but she still nearly told him half a dozen times – would’ve, if she’d been sure there was something to say, because this thing with Jess is –

“You’re my _friend_ ,” Jess says, and Jo can’t be sure, but she thinks Jess wants to say _best friend_ except she doesn’t know if Jo would roll her eyes if she did. She would, of course she would, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t want to hear it. “I thought maybe -” Jess starts, and she cuts herself off, because the halls are too brightly lit for either of them to think about _maybe_ , maybe like what might’ve happened if Jo hadn’t been there that first night.

“Sorry,” Jo says, and something about the way she says it startles Jess enough that she grins at Jo again, quick and fierce. “So where’s my damn souvenir, Harvelle?” she asks, and the halls are clearing up and they need to get to class but Jo laughs loud enough to turn the heads of people around them.

“Get to class, slacker,” she says. “I’ll tell you everything later.”

*

October passes before Jo knows it, and her mom dresses the bar up in black and orange and serves up pumpkin beer, slipping it on the unsuspecting hunters who scowl at the streamers and cartoon ghosts like they’re something offensive.

Jess spends about a week talking about candy before Jo asks, “You know you can just buy all that shit at the store, right? That’s where all of fun of _not_ being a little kid comes in.”

Jess just sticks her tongue out at her, says, “Just because _you_ already have your costume…”

And it’s true, in a way. Her dad hit forty-five a week ago, and Ellen bought him a new jacket in hopes he’d get rid of the old one, the one with scratches from a werewolf in Santa Fe, stained with rock salt and blood and aftershave. But instead of trashing the thing, he turned to Jo and said, “I’m sure you’ll take better care of it than I did, sweetheart.”

It’s too big, covers her hips and her thumbs and smells like smoke and gunpowder, and Jo hasn’t taken it off much since.

They’re at Jess’s house for a change, hanging around in her room while some band Jo’s never heard of plays on the stereo. Jo guesses she could be doing homework, but it turns out she hates Fitzgerald just as much as she hates Faulkner, and out of the two of them Jess is a better multi-tasker. So she just sits on the bed next to Jess, boots off but leather jacket on, doodling over Jess’s physics notes in bright blue ink.

It’s not like Jess needs them, anyway.

It’s too warm for a jacket really, but Jo’s pockets are stuffed with charms and holy water and the candy she snatched out of the supply at the Roadhouse because it’s not like the Roadhouse gets _trick-or-treaters_.

“Well,” Jo says, “if you’re lookin’ for costume suggestions…” Immediately, she regrets saying it. They haven’t talked about that, any of that, since Jo got back from Wymore, and Jo’s been laying it down to the rum, at least on Jess’s part.

She knows what she wants, but that doesn’t mean she’s willing to fight for it, yet.

Instead of looking at Jess, she glances around the room. It’s nothing like hers, books tossed around haphazardly, knives and ammo in an old trunk, a journal stuffed somewhere under her mattress and her clothes sticking out of dresser drawers. Her dad told her once to live like she’s ready to go, but the thing is, there’s not much she ever wants to take with her.

Jess’s room, though. Every bookshelf is alphabetized; everything on her desk is organized. The floor isn’t spotless, but Jo thinks you could sleep there no problem. The only evidence Jess isn’t some kind of neat freak is the nightstand where Jess keeps her stereo: CDs and books piled high, bottles of nail polish, hair accessories and scribbled notes.

Jess, Jo knows, doesn’t sleep all that much since the demon, if she ever did.

“Well,” Jess says, and Jo hears the rustle of paper before she feels Jess’s fingers closing over her wrist, jangle of cheap gold bracelets and jagged nails. Blue today, Jo knows, even without looking down – same bright color as Jess’s eyes. “I could go for ‘sexy hunter,’ but I think you’ve got that one covered.”

It’s the _worst_ line, worse than something even Dean fucking Winchester could come up with, and Jo only stops laughing when Jess is right up against her, personal space made non-existent, breathing out, “Maybe if you knew a little less about monsters, you’d know more about how study sessions are really supposed to go.”

The second time Jess kisses her, it’s somehow better than the first. There’s no sky, no streetlights, just the ceiling above and the bed beneath them and nothing to set the pace but them. And Jess’s crap ass music, Jo guesses, but she drowns that out and shuts her eyes and kisses back, kisses like she wanted to before, gets her hands in the waves of Jess’s hair and just _goes_.

By the time they come up for air, Jo’s jacket is off and her hair’s loose and tangled, and Jess’s physics notes are disordered, crushed under their feet. Her shirt’s still on but the fabric’s beyond wrinkled from Jess grabbing at it, and Jess’s face is buried in the crook of her neck, not kissing anymore but laughing.

“It’s a good thing I don’t have self-esteem issues,” Jo says, and it comes out more breathless than she means it to, less sarcastic. “I’d be worried.”

“Hmm,” Jess says, and Jo shivers when she feels it against her skin, feels Jess’s teeth graze her pulse. “Good thing,” she agrees.

Jess is warm against her, half on top of her, her miles’ worth of legs covering Jo’s and it worries Jo, for a second, just how much she doesn’t mind it. That the best she can do is say, “God, you’re gigantic,” and not _get off me_. That she doesn’t want to say either thing, not at all.

“Whatever,” Jess says, pushing further against Jo. Jo can feel her smile against her neck, all teeth. She doesn’t look down, doesn’t need to look down to know exactly what that smile looks like. “It just means there’s more of me to _completely adore_.”

Jo doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t disagree, either. Not for a second.

*

When Jess comes by the Roadhouse for the first time, Jo hears her before she sees her. Ellen’s sent her downstairs for a case of whiskey and a few more bags of pretzels, and as she’s coming up the stairs, she hears Jess saying, “Yeah, Stanford next year.”

It’s not like a punch in the gut, because Jo’s _been_ punched in the gut, but it’s not like anything good, either. She waits to hear what her mom will say next, but Ellen’s voice is too scratchy to hear through the door so instead of hiding like she wants to, she opens the door easy and steps out.

Whatever Jo wanted to say, it gets cut off when she sees Jess, when Jess turns and just _smiles_ at her, not like she’s gloating or teasing or anything but happy to see Jo.

It fucking pisses her off, really.

“Hi,” Jess says. She’s sitting at the bar across from Ellen, but when she sees Jo she steps off the stool – Jess’s legs are so fucking long, she doesn’t have to _jump_ like Jo does – and walks over to Jo. For all of a second, Jo thinks Jess is coming over to kiss her hello or something completely ridiculous, but Jess just takes one of the boxes from her and asks Ellen where it goes.

Jo looks nowhere near her mom, even when she starts directing them.

They get everything put away, and Ellen says, “Jess tells me she’s going to college next fall. Stanford, even.” The tone is steady, nothing accusatory, but Jo hears the question in it all the same. It’s _she’s got everything planned and you don’t_ right on top of _how much does this girl know about you?_

Jo, though, she hasn’t lived seventeen years under Ellen Harvelle for nothing, so all she offers is a non-committal, “Yep.”

“Scholarship, too,” Ellen adds, like that word alone will get Jo to say _I saved her life, maybe, and she’s my friend and maybe something more and I didn’t tell you because I don’t want to **share** and can’t you just let it go?_

It doesn’t, though. “Yep,” Jo says again, smiling pleasantly enough but not quite reaching her mom’s gaze. “She’s pretty smart, I guess.”

“Genius,” Jess corrects, elbowing Jo lightly in the side. Jo sees Ellen raise an eyebrow at that, but Jo can’t help thinking it’s not – disapproving.

Ellen says, to Jess, “We’re havin’ porkchops for dinner, if you’re hungry.”

Jo knows Jess doesn’t get it exactly – no matter what Jo’s said about her mom, how fierce she can be, there’s no way to make Jess get that Jo’s never had friends she _wanted_ to bring around here, much less ones Ellen would want around one way or another. But she feels Jess pause anyway, hears the intake of breath, turns to look at her just in time to see her smile again and say, “I’d love to.”

*

Something changes, after that first night at dinner. They ditch the coffee shop, ditch the bright lighting and the too-sweet drinks, and instead after school they just head back to the Roadhouse and Jess piles her usual mess of homework and notes on top of the bar. It’s harder for Jo to _pretend_ to study with Ellen coming in and out every half hour to stock this or clean that, but when Ellen walks through and Jo’s too busy schooling Jess at pool to pay even a little attention to _the Sun Also Rises_ , she just shakes her head and laughs.

Jess ends up being pretty good at pool, even manages to keep quiet when a hunter comes in for an early drink and Jo hustles him to the bottom of his wallet, but she _sucks_ at darts and Jo does her best to be an obnoxious little shit about it.

“Guess you’re not as much of a genius as I thought,” she says, when Jess barely manages to hit the board at all, much less a damn bulls eye. Jo’s not perfect herself, but she’s good enough if she concentrates, and she’s starting to do just that when Jess comes up behind her, gets her hands on Jo’s sides and pulls her back.

“ _Hey_ ,” Jo starts, but then Jess just fucking turns her all the way around, gets her hands back on either side of Jo’s waist and pulls her in, leans down and kisses her. Now that they’ve got a few things established, Jess doesn’t fuck around with kissing; she’s thorough, getting Jo’s mouth open against hers, licking inside, her tongue soft against Jo’s. She drags her teeth along Jo’s bottom lip before she starts to pull away, but Jo gets her hand on the back of Jess’s neck and pushes her back in, standing up on her toes to get as much of Jess as she can.

She forgets where she is, any of what she’s doing but touching Jess, being as close as she can, getting as _much_ of her as she can. By the time she remembers about oxygen, there’s a small pile of darts on the floor by her feet and her face is flushed and Jess is just _beaming_ down at her.

“Trust me,” Jess says, reaching up to brush some of the hair out of Jo’s face. “I’m really fucking brilliant.” She nods to the dartboard, and back at Jo. “I definitely just won that round.”

“You’re a fucking _cheater_ ,” Jo counters, but she’s grinning too hard for it to have much bite in it.

“Yeah,” Jess teases, rolling her eyes, “You _really_ seemed like you minded that.”

“I did,” Jo says, giving her a stern look that, again, can’t be all that convincing with the way she’s smiling. “You better not try it again. I’ll kick your ass.”

Jess doesn’t bother answering, just scoffs and kisses her again, and it occurs to Jo right then that she’s _happy_ , right here. That there’s no rock salt on the bottom of her shoes, no smell of gunpowder on her hands, no scratches on her ribs arms legs, but she’s not itching to be anywhere else. Not even when Ellen comes banging through the swinging door and tells her to get some homework done right this second if she likes her ass the shape it’s in.

"You better listen,” Jess says, pulling back and plopping down on the pool table, her own copy of _the Sun Also Rises_ in hand even though Jo’s pretty sure the AP class read it last spring. “I don’t go for misshapen girls.”

Jo sticks her tongue out, but she doesn’t answer, just swings up next to Jess and starts reading. If she doesn’t stop touching Jess the whole time, well, whatever. She’s learning to multi-task.

*

Winter moves in quietly, frost hardening the ground and clouding the windows of the Roadhouse, and everything goes wrong. It doesn’t go wrong in November, when Jo and Jess spend the last week before vacation huddled up in Jo’s room under the covers, music loud enough to cover up whatever sounds they can coax out of each other. It doesn’t go wrong in December, when Jess comes by the night before she leaves for winter vacation in Florida, two weeks of sun that Jo knows will just turn her more golden where Jo would burn. It doesn’t even go wrong on Christmas, which Jo has never expected much from – usually her dad finds himself on a hunt and they all exchange presents whenever; Ellen’ll spend her one night of year getting tipsy on eggnog while Jo keeps the sadder brand of hunters at bay with a stern look and a shotgun if she has to. This year, Bill’s at home, and even with the bar open it’s a quiet Christmas, half a dozen hunters here and there throughout the night. The place is decorated, garland and lights and everything but the Nativity scene, and when Dean Winchester shows up at half past nine and tries to kiss her under the mistletoe, Jo laughs him off and kicks his ass at the deer hunting game – and least he’s not dumb enough to bet her.

But January, everything falls apart.

New Year’s passes uneventfully; hunters aren’t much for celebrating holidays, so business isn’t better than usual, and not long after midnight the Roadhouse is empty enough for Jo and Ellen to start cleaning up. It’s a quiet night, biting cold but no wind, and Jo’s not thinking about much at all while she picks up empty bottles and glasses, moves around the bar like she could with her eyes closed. Jess is supposed to be back soon, two days before school starts, and Jo’s past the point of caring, by now, that she’s ridiculously _excited_. She’s missing a hunt with her dad, some grizzly thing in Lexington, just so she can be around the first day Jess gets back.

She doesn’t care how stupid and girly it makes her.

She gets the last of the glasses back to the kitchen and goes back to give the bar one last scrub down when the front door bursts open, and _we’re closed_ isn’t even out of her mouth before she looks up and sees who’s there.

When it comes to Dean Winchester, Jo’s got about a dozen sarcastic remarks cooked up at any given time, even more since she and Jess started hanging around each other, but she can’t think of one of them right now. He’s shut the door behind him and there’s no way it was open long enough for as much cold to get in as Jo feels, just seeing the look on his face.

There isn’t much that’ll spook a hunter, and the handful of times Jo’s seen Dean he’s looked nothing but sure, confident, too much ego for his own good. There’s none of that right now, and before she can ask why, can ask _what_ , Dean asks, “Is your mom around?”

Jo nods, heads off to find Ellen for him, and by the time they both get back Dean’s gone behind the bar and poured himself a whiskey and two more for each of them.

“Well,” Jo says, getting some of her voice back, “just help yourself -”

Ellen stops her. “Dean,” she says, and she’s so quiet, so serious, and Jo can’t figure out why. Can’t help thinking of her mom on the phone with John Winchester, years ago, how loud she was then, cracked voice and teary eyes and Jo’s suddenly tired without any idea why.

Dean looks up when Ellen says his name, and no one says anything – not for a minute at least, and Jo feels the floor under her feet and the bar against her side and then she’s crying and Dean’s talking, or maybe Dean’s talking and she’s crying, quiet words, more words than she’s ever heard him say at once, and every other sentence sounds like I’m sorry, even though she’s not sure he ever says the words more than once outright.

Doesn’t matter what he says, doesn’t matter that whiskey stings her throat and eyes or that her mom’s gripping her so tight her ribs might crack in half, because when Dean’s done talking her dad’s still dead, still nothing, still bones and blood but not a heartbeat in sight.

When Dean’s done talking, he leads them out front to his car, where what’s left of her dad is laid out in the backseat. He’s bloody and pale and dead, unmistakably dead, and it hits Jo right then that for everything she knows, everything she’s seen, the strength in her arms and legs and the Latin she can recite like breathing, she’s never known anyone that died.

Jo keeps crying, and Dean keeps apologizing, and her mom murmurs words she can’t hear, but she isn’t yelling at Dean, not like Jo would’ve expected if she’d ever expected – any of this.

And she didn’t, is the thing. Superheroes don’t die; they retire; they pass on the cape or the cowl, and it’s fucking freezing out and Jo’s just wearing long sleeves and she left her jacket inside and Dean tries to give her his and she pushes him away with more strength than she knew she had right now.

She runs back inside, because she’s not afraid of the blood – and really, there’s not as much blood as Jo would expect so much as his bones aren’t quite how they should be –, the pale skin, not anything her dad is or was, but she doesn’t need to be there when they burn him up. She believes in ghosts because she’s seen them, but she knows wherever her daddy is, he isn’t in that body and she won’t say goodbye to it.

She runs back inside, slips on her jacket – breathes in salt and smoke and cologne and mixed in with it all, the smell of Jess’s shampoo –, and watches the fire burn from her bedroom window.

*

When her mom and Dean come back inside, they bring in the scent of smoke and ash, and Ellen’s crying so hard she can’t stand up straight anymore. Jo’s seen her mom cry before, seen her in every state, but nothing like this, and just seeing it nearly sets Jo off again.

It doesn’t, though. Jo digs her nails into the leather of her jacket, keeps breathing even when she isn’t sure how, and she and Dean fix her mom a drink and get her into bed. Jo remembers the hundreds of times her mom tucked her in just like this, blankets and a bedtime story, and she doesn’t mention any of them. Just says, “I love you, Mom,” and shuts the door behind her.

When she gets back out to the bar, Dean’s standing with his hands in his pockets, head down, and if Jo had the presence of mind, she’d laugh at him. She doesn’t, though. Her face is still streaked with tears, her hands still shake, and she can barely look at him at all.

“I should go,” he says, looking down at his feet as he says it. “Let you get some sleep. You uh –” he finally looks up, and for the first time Jo’s breath doesn’t catch in her throat just to look at him. Those eyes and girly lashes and goddamn freckles, and Jo misses Jess so bad it’s all she can do to shake her head, shut him up. She doesn’t want to sleep, doesn’t want to eat or drink or do just about anything.

The shock of it all isn’t gone, might never be gone, but her hands itch to tear at something, itch at the injustice of it all.

“Come on,” she says, and before she can think better of it she’s grabbing her rifle from under the bar and heading outside.

Dean’s silent as she works, as she sets up bottles and cans along the fence, her fingers red and frozen where they’re not protected by the jacket. This is what Ellen did for her years ago, what her father helped her perfect, and it’s all she can think of doing right now. All she can do to keep going.

She shoots for what feels like hours, glass and aluminum shattering every way until Dean disappears for a minute and comes back with his own gun, joining her as they demolish everything that’s left. They’re both completely silent, nothing but the occasional passing car, the jukebox still going strong inside, the deafening sound of shot after shot that Jo knows with certainty her mother won’t hear.

They go until they run out of ammo, and instead of going back inside where it’s warm and safe, where her father will never set his boots down again, she and Dean lean back against the Impala, weapons at their feet.

“You gonna keep doing this?” Dean asks, and Jo doesn’t have to look at him to know that he means hunting.

It’s a long time, still, before she answers. She thinks of the calluses on her hands, the salt that lines her windows, the devil’s trap in her closet (thinks of Jess seeing it and asking _what the hell is that_ , and staring at her in some kind of wonder when Jo told her). She thinks of the knife her dad bought her last year, a pig sticker of a thing but her name, _her name_ carved into the handle (thinks of her mom saying, sour but still smiling, that it was bad luck to give anyone a knife).

She turns to him and asks, quiet but sharp, “Would you quit just because your dad died?”

Dean flinches and says, “I don’t know how to do anything else.”

Jo lies and says, “I don’t either.”

Dean helps Jo clean up the rest of the bar even though she doubts they’ll be open tomorrow or the next day, and Jo fixes him up on a cot, thinking of all the times, not too long ago, she thought of just this – her, Dean Winchester, and a bed somewhere while her mom’s passed out asleep. She turns to him and those big green eyes of his are sad, unfocused, thinking of her but maybe not just her.

“’Night, Dean,” is all she says then.

She figures he’ll be gone by morning.

*

Jess comes back on the Saturday before school starts again and Jo doesn’t call her, doesn’t check if she’s home first or if it’s okay to come by, just drives right over and knocks on the door. It’s all she can do, when Jess answers, not to throw her arms around her and start crying all over the place, start telling her everything.

But Jo, she doesn’t do any of that. Jess answers the door and her eyes light up, and Jo stuffs her hands in her pockets and smiles back, tight but true. Everything’s fucked up right now, her mom and the bar and _Jo_ , but Jess is standing in front of her for the first time in weeks and Jo. Jo aches a little, just to see her, tan and beautiful and looking, finally, like she managed to get some sleep.

Jess smiles and pulls her inside before Jo can think to ask, think to say anything. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?” Jess teases. The living room behind her is full of half-unpacked suitcases, and Jo hears Jess’s parents talking in one of the other rooms.

Jo steps inside, feels the warmth of the house, a few candles burning on the mantelpiece and the windows open to let in the dying sunlight. It snowed finally, yesterday, while Jo and Ellen spent the day calling old friends, keeping them informed. They kept the bar closed and reminded each other to eat. Jo thinks it’s the quietest the place has been in years.

“I missed you,” Jess starts to say, just as Jo takes a breath and says, “My dad’s dead.” They’re both silent, still, for the longest moment. It’s the first time Jo’s said it aloud; yesterday she dialed the numbers while Ellen spoke, too afraid of the shake in her voice. Jess’s mouth opens and closes and Jo thinks how the last time they kissed, her dad was still breathing.

Then Jess touches her arm and says her name and she’s crying again and she can’t _stop_. She cries for what feels like hours, for what can’t possibly be that long, cries until Jess leads her to the couch and Jess is holding onto her, murmuring words into Jo’s ear, words she can’t decipher because there’s so much noise coming from her throat, chest, a ringing in her head. It was different when it was her mom and Dean, different when it was people who knew about this – the life of a hunter, deep down Jo knows it’s not being a superhero but being a soldier: your time is limited, so fucking _limited_ , an expiration date nobody knows.

When Jo quiets down again, she hears Jess’s mom nearby asking questions, feels Jess’s arm move up to wave her off, and then they’re off the couch and moving again, Jo watching her feet and Jess’s feet as they walk up the stairs. Jess pulls her into her room – books and more books, but none to keep away the monsters they know are out there – and kisses her, kisses her forehead and cheeks and finally her mouth and Jo doesn’t kiss back, can’t kiss back, but she grips Jess’s arms tight and keeps her there.

She falls asleep in Jess’s bed, boots and jacket still on, and it’s the first decent sleep she’s had in days. When she wakes up hours later, she tells Jess everything she can even though her throat’s raw and her eyes itch. Jess doesn’t say anything for a while, just keeps close, still pressed against Jo’s side while she speaks.

“I missed you,” Jess says again, a while after the silence has set in. Jo thinks about making a joke, thinks of all the things she wanted to do, before all this, when Jess came back. But she doesn’t tease her, doesn’t do anything to deny it – couldn’t if she wanted to, because when everything fell apart Jess was the first person she wanted to see. So she takes a shuddering breath and says, “Yeah. I missed you, too.”

*

The rage lasts the longest. _Stages of grief_ , Jo thinks vaguely, but that doesn’t stop the need to yell, rip, bite her teeth into something and not let go, fight a monster Dean Winchester already took out, anyway. She fights with all of it, every fucked up feeling in her, but she doesn’t let it win. The hunters at the Roadhouse tell her stories, _remember when your daddy_ , and Jo holds her breath, doesn’t cry or shout, just whoops all their asses at poker and pool and doesn’t once think or care they might be letting the poor pretty girl without a daddy win.

Hunters aren’t all that big on pity.

School starts again and Jo goes, goes every day even though the teachers all know and they look at her differently – not like some kind of burnout, but like someone who needs another chance. She ignores them, pretends to take notes while she scribbles messages to Jess between class, half of which she never bothers to pass along because once the new semester starts they have lunch together, anyway. They hide out in Jo’s car for an hour and they don’t talk; Jo can’t make herself talk about any of the memories in her head and she knows Jess can’t bring herself to _ask_.

She can’t think about anything, not about math or English (it just fucking figures they’d start in on Sylvia Plath _now_ ) or anything but her mouth pressed against Jess’s, her hands under Jess’s clothes grabbing for more skin. She doesn’t care that everyone knows, that they can tell. She’s too angry about everything else, hands itching to fight or tear at everything she sees, everything but Jess, to care what people think.

*

January disappears, turns into February, and any minute Jo’s not spending at school or with Jess she’s helping her mom at the bar. The truce they seemed to form after her dad’s death lasted about two weeks and now they bicker like always, about what pretzels to buy and how many cases of beer to bring up at once, about whether Jo should listen to any more of Gordon Walker’s stories. His are always the grizzliest and Jo thinks _that could be me_ all while wondering, so deep down she barely hears it, whether she really still wants it to be. Of course she does. She chases every story, holds on to every piece of information she can get, and it’s only her mom that keeps her in one place.

Her mom leaves college applications everywhere, and Jo tosses them out one by one – most of them are community colleges, places closer to home, but the ones even further off, Jo rips to shreds. She’s going to leave someday; someday soon if she has her way, but not like that.

“You don’t have to be him, you know,” Jess tells her one day, when she catches Jo tearing up an application to somewhere in Minnesota. “There are other ways to help people. You could be a doctor or a cop or _anything_.”

“I know,” Jo says, even though it’s not true. If anyone gets her, Jess does, but there’s always going to be that distance. That misunderstanding, that hunting is a career choice instead of a way of life.

“You could come with me to school,” Jess says, and Jo stops what she’s doing, pretending to write some essay questions about _Hamlet_. Jo could be sharpening knives, cleaning guns, reading through the news articles Ash sent her, but instead she’s sitting next to Jess at one of the tables in the Roadhouse, because no matter how many classes Jo convinces her to ditch, Jess still insists on homework. “You’re not _dumb_ , Jo.”

And it’s true; Jo knows that. She gets good grades any time she does the work, sometimes even if she doesn’t, but she can’t stand the structure of school, the meaningless assignments. There’s no sweat and blood involved with it, no payoff, just endless directions that Jo doesn’t want to follow.

It’s not _important_ enough. It’s not what her dad died for.

It’s not what Jo wants, but Jess is leaving in the fall. It seemed far away at first, like by the time Jess left for college whatever this thing is between them would break in half. Like Jo would never have to worry about being left behind, because she would leave first. But it’s getting harder and harder to believe that, and California is a long way from here.

“Just think about it, okay?” Jess asks, and she reaches over to put her hand over Jo’s. Her nails are painted purple this week and she’s finally stopped biting them and Jo wants to say, doesn’t say, _you wouldn’t be here if I wanted to go to school_. Jess knows her too well by now not to catch some of that, though, so she smiles at Jo and says, “Superheroes don’t get paid all that well, you know.”

Jo knows. She knows that hunters like the Winchesters and Gordon, the ones who don’t have anywhere at all to come home to, they get by on hustling and credit card scams. She knows that hunting is thankless and sad and someday she might die from it, not like cancer but like a heart attack. She knows it’s what she wants more than anything else, especially now.

Even more than she wants Jess.

“Just can’t live without me, huh?” is what she jokes finally, when she’s doodled all over her questions on Hamlet and Jess has gotten through half her physics homework without looking remotely challenged.

Jess looks up at her and smiles, but she doesn’t joke back. Jo tries not to think about it too much.

*

In March, Jess leaves with her family for a few days to check out Stanford. She’s already enrolled; she’s been talking on and off about it for months, but it’s the first time she’s going to see any of the campus up close. “We’re driving there,” Jess tells Jo the night before she leaves, leaning over the counter at the Roadhouse. It’s rare for Jess to stick around once they’re actually open – it’s only the particularly stupid, uninformed hunters who try to hit on Jo these days, but Jess is a goddamn magnet for them in her tight jeans and t-shirts, in the way she completely _ignores_ them for Jo. “You could come with, check things out with us.”

It’s a three-day weekend, and Jo _could_ , is the thing. Thinks Ellen might even let her, since it’s not hunting she’d take off for, but _school_ l, and Ellen hasn’t stopped leaving applications around the bar – she and Jess must have spoken sometime while Jo wasn’t around, because all the latest ones are places in California. Jo can’t figure out whether she wants to laugh or scream about it, so she sticks to passive-aggression and quietly rips them up when her mom’s not around to see.

Jo scoffs. “You and me in the back of the family station wagon, huh?” Jo likes Jess’s parents all right – they’re normal she guesses; they both work good jobs and they’re always nice to Jo when she comes around, but she can tell they’re not that _comfortable_ with her. She can tell whatever friends Jess had before, they probably liked a little better.

“It’s more of a jeep,” Jess points out, smiling back like Jo’s sarcasm doesn’t really affect her anymore. Jo guesses at this point, it kind of doesn’t. “We could play car games and stuff. Sing songs. Family road trip.”

For a second, all Jo can think about is her dad, the two of them singing loudly and badly to whatever was on the radio, Elvis and the blues, making up words when they couldn’t remember them. Then she swallows, looks around the bar and back to Jess, and wishes kind of desperately that they weren’t surrounded by a bunch of goddamn hunters right now, because she’d really like to reach across the counter and kiss Jess. She’d like to say _yeah, moron, I’ll come with_ and have that be it, the two of them and Jess’s family and Jo thinking about monsters but not _just_ monsters.

She doesn’t, though, and she thinks Jess knows as much, so she reaches across the counter and squeezes Jess’s hand briefly, says, “Take lots of pictures and bring me something pretty,” before walking off to take a couple orders. Jess is gone by the time she gets back, but on the counter where she was, there’s a napkin with the words _you’re missing out, loser_ and a heart. Jo rolls her eyes, but she slips the note into her pocket.

*

Jo and Ellen are in the middle of one of their epic fights when Dean shows up at the bar. It started easy enough, like it generally does. They were taking care of the usual opening tasks when Ellen started asking about Jess, easy questions that still put Jo on edge – whether she was staying at the dorms when she went to college, what classes she was thinking of taking, what she wanted to do for a career. If she planned to come back each summer. Most of the questions Jo responded to simply enough – she didn’t know the answers and said as much, because she’d never been able to bring herself to _ask_. When Jess brings up college, Jo gets quiet, so quiet. She’ll nod along, smile, whatever she needs to do. She’s happy for Jess, or she wants to be, but talking about it only speeds up the fact that in a few months, Jo’s going to lose her.

Jess is going to leave, and Jo can’t make herself stop her. Can’t do anything but remain where she is, listening to ghost stories and keeping her father’s guns clean.

The fight started, as it usually does, when Ellen brought Jo into it more than casually. “You know,” she said quietly, “your daddy never went to school, but he told me more than once he wished he had. Hunters are damn smart, but sometimes I’d swear he was illiterate.”

Right about then, Jo snapped, letting out in a rush that she wasn’t going to school and Ellen couldn’t make her, that just because Jess was leaving didn’t mean Jo had to – “And if you don’t want me to hunt, then _how can you keep me in this place?_ “

Right about then, Dean shows up, hair wet from the rain pouring down outside and a look on his face like he doesn’t even want to know what he walked into. Jo’s breath catches in surprise, not because it’s _Dean_ but because he hasn’t been around here since New Year’s.

Ellen says, “Hi, Dean,” and then storms off toward the back, leaving Jo to deal with him. “Hey,” she says, and then tilts her head toward where her mom just left. “Sorry about that. We usually save it for after we close.”

Dean nods, smiling sheepishly at her. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I just left that.” Jo quirks an eyebrow at him in question, and Dean shrugs, then steps over to the bar, boots avoiding a small pile of broken glass – Jo and Ellen tend to break more product than any drunken hunters. “Sam’s gone,” he says.

The blood in Jo’s veins runs cold all at once, and Dean must see some of that in her expression, because he waves his hand and clarifies, “Not – he’s fine. At least, I think –” Jo sets a beer down in front of him, and he nods in thanks before saying, “He took off. Been doing that a lot lately. He and my dad –” Dean waves his hand around the bar vaguely. “You two are a fuckin’ cakewalk, compared to them.”

Jo snorts in disbelief, and Dean smiles up at her. It’s less intense than sometimes, sadder than anything, and she wonders how that happened. Wonders how everything gets so fucked up, and whether her mom’ll throw a fit if she snags a beer for herself.

Dean says, “He wants out, you know? The job. He always has, ever since –” Dean stops again, swallows more beer. Jo doesn’t prod him like she used to, doesn’t lean across the counter toward him, just frowns a little when he says, “I guess I don’t blame him.”

“But you love the job,” Jo says, before she can stop herself. It’s one of those truths that she knows – some of the hunters that come in here, they’re old and tired and they’d do anything to get out, but guys like Dean, people like the two of them. They’re different.

“Yeah,” Dean says, and Jo tries not to hear the lack of enthusiasm there, tries to remember just a year ago, when Dean would come in with Sam and his dad, grinning and happy after a hunt. “Yeah, I do.”

He stays until the storm lets up, jamming nickel after nickel into the jukebox to fill up the rest of the night with Zeppelin tunes, getting tipsy enough that midway through the night he starts grinning crookedly at Jo again. She comes out behind the bar and they play a loose game of pool before Ellen calls for her to get back to work. Jo turns to go but Dean grabs her arm, quick, and she looks up at him. “You know she just wants what’s best for you, right?” Dean asks, and Jo looks down at his hand and thinks, for a second, that that’s the same hand that lit a match and burned the rest of her father up.

She thinks how quickly things change, thinks of Jess’s hands holding her, thinks of her mom teaching her to shoot a long, long time ago and how she knew, right then, not because of her dad or a bunch of ghost stories but because of the way the rifle felt under her tiny hands that that, right there, was what was best for her.

Hunting is a doomed, fucked up life, and she was made for it. She knows that, even if no one else has caught on yet.

“Yeah,” she says, “I know.”

*

With spring rolling in and Jess studying more than ever, Jo realizes that if she wants to graduate any time soon, she should probably get to work herself. So she studies, actually writes English papers worth reading instead of attacking Fitzgerald for all he’s worth, aces her math tests and pulls along decently in the rest of her classes. She’s nowhere near the top of her class, and some of her teachers give her strange looks like she’s started _cheating_ , but it makes her mom happy, at least, that her grades start to improve.

It’s false hope to give her, Jo knows, but it’s better than fighting all the goddamn time, and if the college applications don’t stop, at least some of the door-slamming and shouting does. Jo has to remind herself, sometimes, which one of them is the teenager here.

In April, though, Jess meets her at her locker after fifth period, grabs her around the wrist and leans down toward her ear to say, “Let’s get the hell out of here,” and Jo goes without a fight, not saying a word until she and Jess have made it safely across the parking lot to where Jess’s car is parked.

“What’s up?” Jo asks, but Jess just shakes her head, smiles, and says, “Get in,” so Jo, with another questioning look, climbs into the passenger seat. It’s gorgeous out, the first day without a cloud in the sky for what feels like weeks, and Jo only brought her jacket to school today because she doesn’t feel entirely safe without it.

“We’re going on a roadtrip,” Jess explains when she starts the car, and a familiar wail of music pours out of the stereo. Jess’s taste runs to the singer-songwriter types, sappy girls and pianos, and Jo starts fiddling with the radio before they even get out of the parking lot. Once she’s found something acceptable to both of them – Eddie Vedder murmuring mostly indecipherably over a decent baseline –, Jo turns to look at Jess. “You know it’s a little late in the school year for rebellion, right? I mean, you already got into fucking _Stanford_.”

Jess grins at her, more brightly than anyone else ever manages to smile at Jo. “That’s why it’s the _perfect_ time for a little rebellion. Besides,” she adds, after pounding out the beat on her steering wheel, “I’m friends with you. Technically, I’ve been rebelling all year.”

Jo shakes her head and laughs, and watches as Jess throws her head back and starts singing along to the radio, even though there’s no way in hell the words she’s singing are the _actual_ words. She turns onto the freeway and drives for hours, going nowhere at all, windows open and the stereo blasting. Jo thinks how different it is, to have no destination in mind. No ghost, no demon, no grave to desecrate. There’s just Jess beside her, smiling and happy and completely infectious. She doesn’t think about the pile of homework she has sitting at the bottom of her bag, or what her mom might say, just sits back and finally starts to sing along when Jess tells her, point-blank, that there’s no choice.

By five in the evening, they reach a little town at the edge of the state that Jo’s never heard of, and after Jess fills up the tank, they pull into a spot in the middle of nowhere. The car off, no radio, no sound but the two of them breathing, no preamble but the day today, Jess moves from the driver’s side and crawls right into Jo’s lap.

“Jesus,” Jo says, once Jess is done kissing most of the breath out of her.

“ _Jess_ ,” Jess corrects, sounding so much like the smartass know-it-all _Jo_ is that Jess has to kiss Jo again to keep her from laughing. Jess’s legs are on either side of her, pushing down, and she’s kissing Jo like she means it, like it’s all she ever wants to do. She sucks on Jo’s bottom lip and Jo gets her hands in Jess’s hair and somewhere along the way, they both lose their shirts and Jess gets the seat pushed down and the sun’s still streaming through the windows and anyone could see, but Jess starts touching her. Jess kisses down her neck, her chest, licking along her breasts and stomach until she reaches Jo’s jeans and stops and Jo knows they probably shouldn’t, not here, but she says _please_ anyway, and Jess smiles at her before undoing the button of her jeans.

It’s dark by the time they pull their clothes back on, and Jo’s flipped them so she has her legs on either side of Jess, but now the radio’s playing soft again while they make out easily, without intent. “You could go with me,” Jess says, for what Jo’s pretty sure is the millionth time in the last few months. It should make her happy, Jo thinks, that Jess cares this much – but mostly it just makes her ache.

“No,” Jo starts to say, pulling back enough to see Jess’s eyes in the dark, nothing but moonlight keeping them lit up.

“I know,” Jess interrupts. She touches Jo’s chin, her cheek, her hands soft, no calluses or scars or anything like Jo ever would’ve figured she wanted. “I mean I’m – I’m leaving, okay? I have to, and I am.” Jo looks away, and doesn’t think about how many times she’s heard variations of that statement, or how many times she’s thought almost the same. “But you could drive me out there. We could go like this, to California. And then you could – whatever you want to do, Jo. It’s your choice.”

Jo looks back at her then, doesn’t say a word for so long that Jess starts to shift under her. “I’m calling all the shots on music,” she says at last. “Your taste sucks.”

“Sure,” Jess says.

“And we’re taking my car, not yours.”

“Obviously.”

“You might annoy me so bad I decide to leave you stranded somewhere. Or vice versa,” Jo points out, but she’s smiling, can’t seem to stop.

“You’re a superhero,” Jess says. “You’ll make it.”

“Not yet,” Jo says, quiet and serious again. Well, as serious as it’s possible to be with Jess under her, gorgeous and lips swollen from kissing and looking at her with a kind of fondness that scares Jo, scares her a little more than some run-of-the-mill ghost. Scares her, because she thinks she might be looking the same way, right back.

“You will be,” Jess says, just as quiet as she reaches up to brush some of the hair back from Jo’s face. “I know it.”

Jo kisses her again, because she can and because she wants to, and it’s not _yes_ , but it’s definitely _maybe_.

*

Graduation sneaks up on Jo before she can stop it – one minute it’s spring break and she and Jess spend every sunlit second of it driving through fields and reciting math formulas and literary terms, and then it’s May and Jess is complaining, loudly and obnoxiously, that they should’ve gone with blue gowns instead of red for graduation. “Shut up,” Jo says, even as she’s glaring down at her own gown. She’s got sneakers on underneath and she feels _ridiculous_ , but her mom’s somewhere out in the crowd and no matter how tough Jo tries to be, she can’t help thinking that her dad’s _nowhere_.

She tries to remind herself that he might not have made it, anyway. Jo never minded, not _really_ , that hunting came first, but this is – yeah. “You look fine,” Jo continues. Jess nudges her, and Jo looks back up to say, “Okay, you look fucking stupid, but so does everyone else.”

“Thank you,” Jess says, beaming at her. She reaches up to adjust Jo’s cap, even though Ellen already did that about thirteen times on the way over, and Jo scowls at her. “Stop that,” Jess admonishes. “My mom wants to take pictures later, and I don’t want you looking like _that_.”

Jo scoffs and opens her mouth to say something snarky, but then the teacher in charge of all of this starts telling everyone to line up in alphabetical order and Jo and Jess have to separate for a while. Jo’ll be walking out before Jess, of course, so with about twelve people between them Jess pokes her head up to shout, “Good luck!” The guy going before Jo smirks at her, and she keeps _accidentally_ stepping on the back of his feet as they move out toward their seats.

It’s sunny out, so bright and warm that by the time all the commencement speakers are finished Jo feels like she’s about to die of heat, and even though everyone practiced this yesterday, somehow the line still gets mixed up and _Alyssa Fischer_ ends up going before _Max Emphram_. It’s a mess, and everyone’s loud and snapping pictures left and right, but when Jo gets on stage and takes her diploma she hears her mom shouting above all the noise, voice hoarse and happy, and on the other side of the stage she hears Jess hollering and Jo thinks, for the first time, that all the work might’ve been worth it.

Her dad’s not here, but this – Jess tugging her into a tight hug once they meet up again, both their caps refusing to stay on because the wind keeps blowing them off and no one able to get a decent picture with the way Jess keeps bouncing around like a hummingbird on speed – this is good enough. Jo feels happy, really bone-deep happy for the first time in months, and she doesn’t think anything about the coming months, years, when that might not be true anymore. She just lets Jess take her hand and pull her this way and that, saying goodbye to people she’s never thought twice about, teachers whose names she barely remembered one semester to the next. She laughs and lets her mom take pictures like all the other moms, the ones without devil’s traps hidden under their welcome mats or salt in their purse.

It’s not perfect, but Jo thinks, when Jess manages to tug her away from everyone and kiss her quickly in the parking lot, that it’s kind of close.

*

Summer passes just as quickly as spring; faster, even, with so many days of sunlight and sticky heat sliding together. The roadhouse is always slower this time of year, so she and Jess spend a good amount of time playing darts and battling over the jukebox before Ellen puts them to work cleaning the dirtiest parts of the bar. She and Ellen fight less these days, even though they both know Jo hasn’t applied anywhere for school, that Jess is leaving and Jo is just – Jo’s going, and she’ll be back, but not permanently.

Never that, not again.

It’s the middle of August before Ellen tries to sit her down and talk about it again, but Jo’s calmer this time. She’s been working out more, staying fit, practicing everything she can. She’s been reading every piece of lore she has access to, getting every detail out of every worthwhile hunter that comes in. She’s as ready as she’s ever going to be, and they both know it – even if her mom doesn’t want to.

Ellen says, “You know, I was the one who got your dad into all of this.” It’s the first time since he died that she’s mentioned him without either of them flinching, and Jo looks up from cleaning to give her full attention.

“I know,” Jo says softly, and Ellen smiles, but it isn’t a happy smile. “I came from a family of hunters. Your grandpa mostly, but my mom – she was real smart, too.” Jo’s heard the stories about her grandparents, knows what’s coming next. “They’re all dead now.”

“Yeah,” Jo says again, still quiet. Not shouting, not arguing that that won’t be her. She knows now that it might be.

Ellen holds up her hand, then sets it back down on the counter in front of her. Her eyes are wet, but her voice doesn’t break and her lips don’t tremble when she says, “I wish you’d pick anything else.”

Jo looks at her mom for a long time, then. She thinks of Ellen’s voice near her ear as she taught Jo how to aim, thinks of her cursing her dad left to right every time he left. She thinks of her dad’s easy smile while he was alive, thinks of his dead eyes in the back seat of Dean Winchester’s car. And she thinks of Jess, and the way Jess says _superhero_ like she means it, like it’s true.

It’s not, yet. But Jo wants it to be. “I wish I could, too,” she says, and she only realizes then that her mom isn’t crying, but her own eyes are wet and her hands shake when she brings them up to wipe them off.

*

She and Jess leave on a Sunday morning – California’s a few day’s drive at least, and despite every joke, longer and louder each time, that they won’t miss each other at all, that Jo can’t _wait_ to get rid of her, they both know they’re trying to delay that moment. Jo packs everything she’ll need in the trunk of her car, knives and guns and rock salt, holy water and every charm and amulet that actually works. She packs her dad’s journal and her own, all the clothes she has, and despite the stifling heat she’s wearing her dad’s jacket when her mom pulls her into one last hug before she gets into the car.

“Every state line,” her mom breathes into her hair, “you call me, sweetheart. You _be careful_.” Jo doesn’t argue that she knows what she’s doing, doesn’t argue that she’s been in worse trouble just _working_ where she does. All of that’s true, but she just nods and holds on to Ellen, tight as she used to at age five when Bill was gone for too long and says, “I love you, too.”

It isn’t goodbye, nothing close, but Jo drives so fast to Jess’s house she risks being pulled over on the way. Jess is waiting in the driveway when she gets there, bags slung over her arms and her parents waiting beside her, and Jo wonders if this was a bad idea. If her parents shouldn’t be doing this with her instead – Jo is virtually a stranger to them, and Jess is _leaving_ , and.

Jo wonders that, until she pulls into the driveway and Jess drops everything to rush over to meet her, and she’s smiling so wide that when she leans down to kiss Jo, the kiss is more teeth than anything else. Jess’s parents don’t say a word about it, just smile and shake their heads. Jess says goodbye to her parents and her mom cries, is still a little teary-eyed when she pulls Jo into a tight hug and the shock of it hits something inside Jo that she’s tried to ignore for weeks now, maybe months. Jo wonders, not for the first time, how she’s just going to drive back out of California with the passenger seat empty beside her.

She shakes it off, somehow. They pack the car and Jess gets into the passenger seat, and they haven’t even passed the mailbox before Jess starts fiddling with the radio and Jo instead wonders how they’ll get to California without killing each other.

When they reach the first stop sign, though, Jess leans across the seat and kisses her, slow and warm and something near perfect and Jo thinks, yeah. They’ll make it.


End file.
